Chapter Drabbles
by Emilie Rose
Summary: A series of 100 word responces, each one corresponding to a different chapter of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Please let me know if you can think of a better title!
1. The Grand' Salle

Hey all

**Hey all! Okay, this is definitely a sign that I'm cracking up, but please humor me. I'm finally reading **_**The Hunchback of Notre Dame**_**, after having seen quite a few movie versions of it. Anyway, I'm going to attempt to write a drabble for each chapter. Well, here goes nothing…**

**I don't own Victor Hugo or his writings.**

We have been transported into the past by a man who himself is now far in the past. He speaks of what was and what "is now," though his now has fallen away, and much of the living world on which our author bases his references has long disappeared.

Still, however, the descriptions of the masses and the heckling students bring vivid images to mind. We remember when we ourselves have been in the midst of such a crowd and recall people who have acted like these students. Though the scenes have changed over the centuries, the people have not.

**What do you think of the first one?**


	2. Gringoire

On to the next one

**On to the next one! (Meet one of my favourite characters.)**

Upon waking that morning, he had been the happiest man in Paris. By the end of the day, he knew, the whole city would be abuzz with whispers of the fantastic morality. "Who could write such a wonderful thing?" they would ask. Others would reply, "Pierre Gringoire" with obvious pride at knowing such information.

But of course, nothing ever works as smoothly as it is imagined. First that damned beggar and obnoxious student had to create a distraction, and now this. Oh, why had they not simply waited for the Cardinal! What would become of him- and his play- now?


	3. The Cardinal

I found this chapter rather tedious, but I still managed to get this out of it

**I found this chapter rather tedious, but I still managed to get this out of it.**

The Flemish embassy! He tried to smile as they entered the gallery; he smiled for the sake of his political interests with the guests and he smiled for the sake of the masses below, all eyes being firmly fixed upon him. But oh! how he wanted to scowl at them, to express how he could no longer bear to entertain them!

Alas, he could not do this, and so he continued to smile. It was tiring, he mused, to have to smile at those one does not like. For if the joy in one's life is false, what is real?

**Oh, my sweet readers! I love you all so much. Please review me, even if you hate this.**


	4. Jacques Coppenole

Yes, I need a new hobby

**Yes, I need a new hobby. No, I don't own this stuff. Yes, I would appreciate a review. Thanks.**

Jacques Coppenole lived in two worlds, enjoying the best of each. He was a hosier whose skill had caused the status of his clientele to rise greatly since his humble beginnings. Now he was celebrating the Feast of Fools in Paris with honoured dignitaries of two countries! Still, he was not quite one of them; he was like the people below him at heart. In this room of strangers, the one face he recognized was that of a beggar, a man he called friend. Still, those of the upper class accepted him, as did those upon whom these "gentlemen" trod.


	5. Quasimodo

Yes, I need a new hobby

**And here he (finally) is! Quasimodo! (Whom I do not own.)**

He could not hear the words the women spoke as they turned their faces away from him, but he knew what they felt from the way they shied from looking at him. Some of them glanced back at the spectacle, and when they did, he could clearly see their horror and disgust. Why did they fear him so?

The men, however, seemed thrilled by him. They crowned him their fool's pope and carried him on a throne. True, they were mocking him, but he enjoyed the positive attention. It was better than the typical reaction to his appearance; abject hatred.

**Like it? Love it? Want me to go die? Let me know!**


	6. Esmeralda

Yes, I need a new hobby

**I think this chapter is ineptly named, but who am I to argue with one of the greatest authors- one of the greatest men- who ever lived?**

Esmeralda! What in God's name, he wondered, was La Esmeralda, and why had it taken precedent over the mystery which had gathered everyone here in the first place? He had promised his Jupiter who could not climb to the stage to act his part that he would pay the company if he himself were paid. He doubted that he would be, for upon reflecting on the day, those who had hired him would likely not remember they had done so. Still, he would go on writing, as all poets must do, and pray for more cultured audiences in the future.

**End of Book One. Any comments? Pretty please?**


	7. From Charybdis Into Scylla

Here we go

**Here we go! Welcome to Book Two!**

**I don't own anything.**

**I'd like to take this opportunity to wish myself a happy birthday. It was a year ago today when I first posted a story on !**

The entire city was wildly celebrating the Feast of Fools, enjoying itself, and mocking Gringoire's pain. Everywhere he went, he saw people without a care in the world; people who, even if they did have concerns, had laid all their burdens aside for this joyous day.

Yet here he was, attempting to hide from the festivities, but lacking a safe, quiet place in which to hide. The excitement at this holiday and the exceedingly short attention span of the people celebrating had torn his very living space from him when they neglected to pay him for his beautiful unheard masterpiece.

**What do you think?**


	8. The Place De Greve

After a bit of a break to read a book for school, I have returned to my sweet Victor Hugo

**After a bit of a break to read a book for school, I have returned to my sweet Victor Hugo. Obviously, the aforementioned genius has all the rights to Quasimodo and company.**

For hundreds of years, the Place de Grève has stood in the midst of Paris. Over the time, its appearance has changed, as have the people who look upon it. What would it say if it could tell us all it has witnessed? Would it perhaps tell us of our beloved author, sitting on the steps of the Marchandise and taking notes for this chapter? Or of Parisians walking by in 1831, their noses buried in the volume which we now explore? How long will it stand as a witness to human passage? What else will its stone eyes see?

**Please review me! I have but one lonely review (of which I am greatly appreciative, but still… more is better!)**


	9. The Gipsies

And onward I plunge

**And onward I plunge! The updates will most likely be coming with more frequency, for I am reading this book with my friend, who is 200 pages ahead of me. I must catch up!**

**Disclaimer: I would not be writing ****fan****-fiction about my own work.**

The poor girl had done nothing wrong. She was an entertainer- was that such an awful crime? Why did those people say such things to her? She was no witch and a goat could not commit sacrilege. Why could her performance not simply be considered amusing?

There was at least one in every crowd; one person who disapproved of her act. But, she assured herself, it was an honest living she made. If people did not like her dancing or Djali's tricks they did not have to pay her. Still, the angry words stung her heart, as they always did.


	10. The Inconveniences of a Chase

**I'm back! Obviously, these characters are not mine.**

**(Hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving.)**

Hadn't she had enough trouble for one night? Was it not sufficient hindrance that those awful people should make such a scene at her performance? Why, now, must she have this constant feeling of being watched? Who was this shadow following her? And then that horrid beast was upon her and she was sure she'd be murdered. She screamed in terror. Presently, she was released, but found herself trapped yet again. The man who cornered her, however, was handsome and charming. Still, she could not let this polished official pin her down, so she fled, leaving her many pursuers behind.

**This story feels sadly neglected not only by me, but by everyone else. Could it please have a few reviews to make it feel better? On the story's behalf, I thank you all, kind citizens!**


	11. Consequences of the Chase

**HAPPY NEW YEAR! I write with the property of Victor Hugo.**

When a man dies, he no longer needs a mattress. Because of this, the boys saw no harm in "commandeering" it for fuel for a celebratory bonfire. They had been ecstatic about their prize, calling to the world that they had seized it. But now they ran away screaming in terror. They were too frightened to look back, thus they did not see the quite solid and alive heels of Gringoire rounding a corner. The remainder of their night was thus spent in an empty chapel, begging for forgiveness so as not to incur the wrath of some evil spirit.

**Please review these annoying little things!**


	12. The Court of Miracles

**And so it continues, and I once again claim no ownership.**

**By the way, today is January 6, the day of the Feast of Fools, so who's the king? (Anyone that suggests the Phantom of the Opera will be punished!)**

Upon hearing the Duke of Egypt announce his married state, Gringoire could do no more than remain seated on the tottering stool, staring at the delicate little feet mere inches away from him belonging to La Esmeralda, his wife. What was to become of him now? He was no pickpocket, as he had just proven, and he doubted he would be more adept at begging. How then, would he be able to survive in this place? His bride was indeed merciful to save him from the gallows, but what could he expect from this new life he had been given?

**Comments?**


	13. A Wedding Night

**Here comes another! (And I still don't own anything!)**

As he made himself comfortable on the wooden slab that was his bed, Gringoire thought of the enigmatic Esmeralda, his wife. He had been disappointed to learn that she did not desire him, but was only trying to save his life. This had turned to embarrassment we she told him that he was too weak to love. Still, he felt that he could win a place in Esmeralda's heart if given time, even if only as a friend. Gringoire worried about her obvious lack of interest in conversation with him. How could they grow closer if she refused his company?

**Please review poor lonely Quasimodo!**


	14. Notre Dame

**Next! Again, nothing is mine.**

Time, revolution, and artists. Notre Dame is a remarkable building today, as it was in the time of our author. But it is not what it once was, for time, revolution, and artists have taken their toll. It is both ironic and depressing that the artists, the architects who feel a need to edit the masterpiece of others, have caused most of the damage. No one would think to paint over the Mona Lisa. It would be a sin to change a Mozart symphony because it has too many notes. Why, then, do they dare change this monument to God?

**If anyone got the Mozart joke, let me know and I will love you forever.**


	15. A Bird's Eye View of Paris

**Disclaimer: I STILL DON'T OWN WHAT HUGO CREATED!**

**Reflection: These writings are giving me a headache. I just want to read the bloody book. But I'm so OCD that I can't just stop writing them. Please indulge my madness.**

The picture our author paints for us is one of organized disorganization, of different styles coming together on either side of a river to create a city. These words that flowed from his pen long ago, describing a world lost in time even to him, are all that remain of Paris, 1482. Through these black marks on a yellowed page, we can understand the loss he must have felt when looking at his present day Paris, knowing what once stood there. Now, even his world has faded to our present, though his words remain to show us what has passed.

**Reviews? Please? Yesterday was my birthday…**


	16. Good Folks

The boy did not understand why he was surrounded by so many strange faces. He knew only that he was frightened, thus lay in his sack, weeping and screaming. He could not hear the words they spoke over the sound of his sorrow. This was for the best, for the crowd called him a monster, swore that he was a demon and should be drowned or burned. Though it was not the child's fault that he was disfigured, mankind blindly loathed him. But then the merciful hand of Claude Frollo swept him from their wicked gaze, to a new life.

**I own nothing. Please for pity's sake, review me!**


	17. Claude Frollo

He was a scholar, not a father, though he loved his brother Jehan dearly. Life before Jehan had been paper; emotion had been felt vicariously through the words he read. When the small child became a part of his life, however, he began to truly feel. What a wondrous thing it was love! Oh, to care for a person as he did his dear brother! It was on behalf of his brother that Claude Frollo took in the misshapen creature left on the bed of the foundlings. For Jehan he would love and care for this beast as it deserved.

**Again, I own nothing! Young Frollo was king of sweet…**


	18. The Ringer General of Notre Dame

**I still claim no ownership…**

The misshapen boy that Claude Frollo had taken in many years before had grown into a part of the church in which he lived. His soul was as damaged as his body, torn by the cruelty of humans who feared him. This was terribly unfair, for they did not take into account the beauty he created. It was Quasimodo who brought Notre Dame to life, who made the bells in its towers sing throughout the city. He was the soul of the building, the flesh incarnation of stone. Yet he was still human, though he did not belong amongst mankind.


	19. The Dog and His Master

**I still own nothing but a Quasimodo doll…**

Claude Frollo was a cold man who ruled Quasimodo with an iron grip. There was no tenderness in their relationship. Yet Quasimodo adored him with all his being. He loved Frollo as truly as he hated the rest of mankind. Despite Claude Frollo's lack of affection, he had taken Quasimodo off of the street and given him a home. He had subsequently taught the boy to speak and given him the post of ringer general. When the bells made Quasimodo deaf, Frollo found a way to communicate with him. Thus Quasimodo came to love his surrogate father fiercely and unconditionally.


	20. More About Claude Frollo

Claude Frollo was a lonely creature. The love and faith he'd put into his brother Jehan had been betrayed by the boy's flippant nature. Frollo had mastered man's mainstream studies. Without family or books to fill his days, he was left with nothing. Thus, he turned to the occult as a new subject to master, or so whispered the people of Paris. He was cold and frightening, distant from the people to whom he ministered. He was not interested in women, even if his religion had permitted them to him. Thus, no company was ever able to penetrate his gloom.

**I still own nothing but a sorry pit in my heart that could easily be filled with reviews.**


	21. Unpopularity

It is obnoxious when the masses express their ignorance aloud. It could well be true that Claude Frollo was a sorcerer and Quasimodo a demon, but those who gossiped about them knew no facts. They only repeated the prattle they heard from others. In his own world of deep contemplation, Frollo heard none of their insults. Quasimodo was, of course, too deaf to hear the rude comments. No amount of deafness, however, could make him oblivious to the physical taunts of these fools. Through them, he learned hatred, but found solace in walking in the comforting shadow of his master.

**THANK YOU to my second reviewer! You did not leave me your name, so I can't thank you personally, but I love you! Keep them coming, guys!**

**I own … hang on… nope! Still nothing!**


	22. Abbas Beati Martini

**I still don't own Victor Hugo's work.**

"The man is mad." Claude Frollo proved quite clearly to his guests that he was insane, what with his disparaging speeches on the respected sciences. But he did not care what they thought, for he knew what he believed. He would not give up his precious studies of alchemy simply because these fools thought him unstable. He would persevere and succeed, he was sure. He would learn the secrets of Nicholas Flamel's work. He would learn to make gold! It was not an unattainable goal, as many thought, but a scientific process that he could, and surely would, master soon.


	23. This Will Kill That

**I tried a different twist with this one. A slight deviation from a direct reflection.**

**Again, I don't bloody own this!**

Mankind once wrote their history in stone, through the supposed everlasting art of architecture. But nothing is forever, even granite and marble. Ink and paper have long since taken their place and writing has become the earth's new biographer. This was a logical course of events; printing presses made building expenses not worthwhile. But what if it had not occurred? What would the world of Hugo, or our own, look like when written out in stone? Would we be reading this novel in symbols and hieroglyphs on the side of a cathedral? Or would literature like this exist at all?


	24. Impartial View of Old Magistry

**Okay. Again, I own nothing.**

Quasimodo did not struggle against his bonds as he was led in to be sentenced. He watched in resigned silence as people pointed at him, gossiping about his ugliness. Was it only yesterday that he had been crowned their king? Just hours ago, they had carried him joyously through their streets, laughing, and now they stood eagerly watching his public condemnation. He did not understand a word of what was shouted at him. All he knew was that he was in terrible trouble. Even through his deafness, he could sense that these people surrounding him would enjoy seeing him punished.


	25. The Rat Hole

The people of Paris knew little of the women who locked themselves inside this voluntary prison. Of course, they heard the rumors whispering why she had taken to this cave; at times they could even hear her praying. But no one could truly understand why a woman would make such a choice. She would have to be in such emotional pain that her life had become intolerable. The prospect of hiding there, spending her remaining days looking toward her next destination would seem more appealing than normal existence. What horrors must the poor creature have suffered to affect her thus?

**So onward I go! I own nothing. Please review, or at least make me stop writing these time-consuming things!**


	26. The Story of a Wheaten Cake

**Again: No ownership! Victor Hugo is my best friend.**

The child was all she'd ever had in her bleak life; the one gift that God had granted her. Then the gipsy witches had snatched her away for the devil and left a monster in her place. Sorrow can only be felt by one who has emotion; she had none. She was a breathing corpse whose mind, or what remained of it, was focused solely on that which she had lost. Her days and nights were spent praying for the soul of her little darling while her own soul shriveled away. Death was the only relief this world could offer.


	27. A Tear for a Drop of Water

**Property of Victor Hugo! Please review.**

She had been dancing for a small group of people when the crowd began to gather around the pillory. Attention in her immediately ceased, for violence was more intriguing to the masses than beauty. She watched with them as the monster that had accosted her the night before was punished. But though those around her jeered at his anguish, Esmeralda felt her heart ache. She found it dreadful that no one would help this suffering creature. True, she was still frightened of him, but he was obviously a simple man unaware of his wrongdoings and undeserving of this cruel treatment.


	28. End of the Story of the Cake

**Again, this ain't my property.**

Eustache knew not why his mother and her friends were clustered around the small building until he heard a female voice issue from it. He tried his best to be polite to the lady in the cell whose cake, he was sure, he'd been guarding for quite some time. But she did not seem to like him, so he wandered away to greet a hungry looking dog. As Eustache scratched the friendly canine behind its ears, the dog lunged forward and took a bite of the cake. Though momentarily dismayed, Eustache seized the opportunity to partake of it as well.


	29. The Danger of Confiding in a Goat

**Onward I trudge through these drabbles, though I wish my OCD would free me and just let me READ the book. Again, I claim no ownership.**

Upon first meeting the delicate young lady to whom he found himself betrothed, Phoebus was quite enchanted. But now that the marriage was looming in his face, he desperately wished for a way out. The two had nothing in common, he mother was ancient, and her friends were rather annoying. He belonged more with someone to whom he could speak without having to constantly watch his common tongue. This lovely gipsy girl whom he had rescued was precisely what he had in mind. She was beautiful and seemed quite gentle, without being stifled by the overdone propriety of his fiancé.


	30. Showing That a Priest

**I feel like this one is actually pretty bad, only because it is too short. But hey, 100 words is 100 words. Again, not my characters.**

**Also, this chapter is actually called "Showing That a Priest and a Philosopher are Two Different Men" but it was too long to fit in the title bar.**

Gringoire did not know why Claude Frollo had taken such an interest in him and his lovely wife. The intimate nature of the archdeacon's questions unnerved him, yet he answered them honestly. He'd never touched Esmeralda; any attempt would most likely result is him being stabbed. Still, Frollo's warnings against her unsettled him.

Frollo stood seething at the thought of that poet making advances to the gipsy girl. He told himself repeatedly that he only asked the things he did out of concern for the young man's soul. Then why had he felt so uncomfortable when Gringoire questioned his motives?


	31. The Bells

**I own not these characters.**

Once again Quasimodo climbed the tower and rang his beautiful bells. Once again, he directed the metal choir of Notre Dame, making the church sing throughout the city. Today, Quasimodo was the joyous ringer of the bells that he had been for so long. But what had caused his absence prior to this? The people of Paris attributed it to the poor creature's public abuse on the pillory. Could it be, however, that it was a different event of the same day? Could the lovely gipsy's gift of a drop of water had distracted this monster from his precious bells?


	32. Fate

**Onward I trudge… but I have a snow day today, so I'll try to make some real headway in this thing. (Still not mine.)**

When Jehan approached his brother's room, he was unsure as to what he would find within. He had heard rumors about his brother's obsession with alchemy, but was unsure whether they were based on truth or fear of Quasimodo, with whom Claude associated. Upon entering the little room, Jehan saw at once that the rumors were quite true. Aside from the texts, skeletons, and symbols cluttering the room, Claude was muttering endless nonsense about killing someone with a magic hammer and the relationship between gold and fire. Jehan was shocked by the cold, obsessive attitude of his once adoring brother.


	33. The Two Men in Black

**ONWARD! Still not mine.**

The men in black talked of nonsensical feats while Jehan listened, confused. What was it that his brother was attempting? The way he talked to this newcomer startled Jehan. What were they doing to this poor man the called Cenaine? The scholar's confusion was multiplied by Claude's rant about the spider in his window. Inhibiting Jehan's reasoning was his biting hunger. There is only so much a man can uncover about his brother on an empty stomach. Imagine his delight, therefore, when he found a bit of old food in his hiding place. His brother was no longer a concern.


	34. Seven Oaths

**This chapter is actually called "The Effect Produced By Seven Oaths Uttered in the Open Air" which is so ridiculously long that it won't fit in the title bar. (Not that I'm criticizing a literary genius.)**

**Again, not my property.**

The foolish men paid no attention to their surroundings as they walked through the streets, thus they did not notice the archdeacon walking behind them, marking their every sound and movement. He could not tear his eyes from this man who could be the thing that had been preying on his mind for so long. So consumed was he by "Phoebus" that he did not even notice that the money Jehan flaunted was his own. Finally, his eavesdropping was rewarded. His soul ignited as the captain spoke of that wicked gipsy. How could the thought of the witch burn so?


	35. The Specter Monk

**N. M.P. (Not My Property)**

When Claude Frollo saw his foolish brother lying in a drunken heap near the drinking house, he nearly abandoned Captain Phoebus. His dear brother, whom he loved despite his cold exterior and the boy's rambunctious, flippant nature! To see Jehan in such a disgraceful condition wounded him, and he wondered for a moment how he could have failed so utterly in the boy's upbringing. It was, he remarked, quite ungrateful of Phoebus to leave Jehan there, seeing as the scholar had paid for their drinks. But the call of Esmeralda was so strong that he left Jehan and continued on.


	36. Windows Looking Out on the River

**Again, N.M.P. (please review) This chapter's full name is "The Convenience of Windows Looking Out on the River."**

Claude Frollo had never in his life seen anything as intoxicatingly beautiful as that little gipsy. She was beyond human; it was as if she were a sculpture come to life. Then, that wretched captain began to toy with her, reaching for a prize she did not wish to give. As her clothes fell away, a sort of monster leapt up in this man of faith, tearing at him, causing a feeling that he wasn't exactly sure was unpleasant. And yet the fire became burning anger as Phoebus continued to clutch at her, stealing her soul from all other men.


	37. Change of a Crown to a Dead Leaf

**Terrified ramblings of Esmeralda's frightened mind. Enjoy! :=)**

**Still N.M.P.**

Esmeralda sat petrified as she was tried for witchcraft. The foolishness of these men was astounding. How could they think for a moment that she would harm her darling Phoebus? Poor, innocent Phoebus! There had been so much blood! What if that terrible specter that was haunting her had killed her beloved? What would she do if he was gone? That man mentioned his name! What did they know of his condition? Was he alive? The answer made her blood freeze. She cared not that she would be tortured; there could be no pain worse than this. Phoebus was dying!


	38. Sequel of the Crown Changed to Dead Leaf

**N.M.P.**

The young girl did not live in a fine home or have large amounts of money at her disposal. She had, however, lived a peaceful life free of suffering; the gipsy Clopin had seen to that. The emotional strain she'd been under since the night Phoebus had been attacked had weakened her and this impending threat of bodily harm shattered her. She caved at the first sign of pain, inwardly begging Phoebus's forgiveness for this professed betrayal. "Gentleness" the man said! What could be less gentle than attempting to break a dancer's leg to force a false confession from her?


	39. End of the Crown Changed to a Dead Leaf

**I'm back! (I've been reading **_**We the Living**_**, By Ayn Rand, which was not at all as painful as I imagined.) Any way, still NMP.**

The judges, in truth, cared very little about the gipsy girl before them or her goat. The case of one of these foreigners being found to have used dark magic or colluded with Satan was far from unheard of. The girl had confessed; all that remained was the formalities. They were hungry, however, and found themselves dozing off with their eyes open, imagining their supper, quite oblivious to their colleague's speech. But the witch's little goat shook them from their stupor with her antics. This shocking display of sorcery made the judges even more eager to condemn the wicked pair.


	40. Lasciate Ogni Speranza

**I loved this chapter, so I experimented with its drabble. This is first person, Claude Frollo's point of view. NMP.**

Standing before her in that dungeon, I nearly perished. Oh, this poor wretch, whom I love so terribly and whose suffering was entirely my fault. I was helpless in her presence; I found myself telling her of my pitiful existence since the day I first saw her. Yet when my tale was finished and I lay bleeding on the stone floor before her, she spat on my broken heart and threw my love back in my face. Still she loved that gilded officer, though he was surely dead! She would not take the life and, if desired, love I offered.


	41. The Mother

**NMP**

**A quick note before starting. Attention has been brought to my spelling of 'gipsy'. Yes, I know that in modern English, the word is 'gypsy' but in Monsieur Hugo's day (and in my copy of the book dated around 1915) the spelling is with an 'i' . So forgive my old-fashioned ways… And thank you for trying to keep my atrocious spelling in line! (I really can't spell at all.)**

She was going to watch the gipsy witch hang! All these years of praying for mercy, begging the Lord to return her beloved child, had been for nothing! But today, although her daughter was gone forever, she would be granted a taste of sweet revenge. That disgusting gipsy wench had been nothing but a cruel reminder for the poor woman. She was her daughter's age, but a product of the enemy's womb. She lived the life the recluse's daughter had been denied! It was she who was meant to die before living! Today, on the gallows, justice would be served!


	42. Three Men's Hearts of Different Stamp

**NMP**

Quasimodo watched in horror as the gipsy, the only person who had ever shown him kindness, was led up the steps of Notre Dome, a rough rope tied about her delicate neck. He knew nothing of the accusations which had brought her there; he did not need to know. She was an angel and he would not let harm come to her.

Holding his golden trophy above his head, he looked at the silently cheering crowd below him. They were pleased! He had saved this perfect creature, and mankind, which typically cringed at his hideous visage approved of his actions!


	43. Fever

**NMP**

He did not know that the human soul could endure such agony as he now felt! The most beautiful creature that had ever been put on the Earth was dead. Her life had been wrung from her delicate body not by a rope, but by the wickedness of Claude Frollo himself. He had worked all of his life toward a higher end, be it heaven or gold. How could this artfully arranged lump of flesh drive him to such base extremes? He felt the weight of his misdeeds crushing him; the demons of man had won against this poor spirit.


	44. Hunchbacked, One Eyed, Lame

**Again, NMP**

When the frighteningly hideous man seized Esmeralda in that alley a lifetime ago, she believed herself doomed. Not too long after, she found herself soothing the pain mankind had caused; her heart filled with pity for the once fearsome beast. Now, she lay in his domain, where he had taken her for protection. He spoke to her with a gentleness that she would not have imagined such a roughly hewn being could possess.

It was, of course, the wretched archdeacon's fault that their first meeting had been so nightmarish. This poor creature had been used by the priest like herself.


	45. Deaf

**And again NMP**

This poor creature showed such devotion and pain in his every word and gesture. It was heartrending to watch him speak of his devotion to this young woman who had shown him pity; for a moment she forgot her own dark fate. How cruel of the heavens to place such a gentle, beautiful soul in a form as monstrous as his!

He treated her as if she were glass. She was upset by her ordeal and he knew his hideousness would inflict more discomfort. To be given this opportunity to simply watch her and care for her was heaven enough.


	46. Earthenware and Crystal

**NMP.**

**I'm kind of getting bored with these, so I'm shaking it up to keep me awake. This piece is based on one casual line in the chapter about Fleur-de-Lys, who is not directly mentioned by me because I couldn't figure out how many words are in her name, thus I couldn't count 100 words.**

The handsome Captain Phoebus was the sort of man who was desired by women of all social classes and had no qualms about crossing those barriers in pursuit of a beautiful maiden. His fiancé, therefore, had every reason to be upset by his disappearance following the incident with Esmeralda and her bewitched goat. A part of her was glad the gipsy was to be hanged. But fate and the hunchback intervened on the gipsy's behalf. Phoebus had not seen the miraculous rescue; to protect herself, his golden young woman 'forgot' to mention it. Now, the captain was entirely hers forever!


	47. The Key of the Porte Rouge

**NMP…**

Quasimodo cowered outside Esmeralda's doorway, shaking in anguish. His chest throbbed where Frollo had kicked him, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. How could his master hurt that angel? He was a kind man of God who was harsh only to Quasimodo, who deserved it, he was sure. What had she done? Or perhaps Dom Claude had simply desired to be near her as did Quasimodo. Esmeralda had been through a terrible ordeal that had left her nerves on edge. If it were otherwise, Quasimodo did not know if he could fight his master again.


	48. Several Good Ideas

**For the 100****th**** time NMP… (This chapter's full name is "Gringoire Has Several Good Ideas in the Rue des Bernardins")**

Gringoire was grateful that Esmeralda had saved his life. Indeed, he enjoyed his new existence among the Truands more than that which had preceded it. Still, he saw no need to sacrifice this gift from the gipsy girl simply to save her pretty neck. It was a shame that the wicked grip of justice had seized upon the goat as well; she had been more of a companion to Gringoire than her mistress. If Esmeralda's people could save them, all the better, but Gringoire vowed that he would not sacrifice himself for the unhappy pair, despite the archdeacon's determined plans.


	49. Turn Truand

**N.M.P.**

Once upon a lifetime ago, the antics of his foolish brother would have saved Claude Frollo from any unhappiness he felt. Now, Jehan merely served to irritate him. There were people in this cold world with true problems, innocent young women being hanged for no reason! How dare the boy bother him with such foolishness as money? Despite his anger, the archdeacon's blood ran cold at his brother's flippant threat to turn Truand. How could his dear Jehan, whom he had raised and loved so well, join the ranks of those fiends who had raised the girl who destroyed him?


	50. Vive La Joie

**N.M.P. **

**I intend to finish this **** book tonight, so wish me luck!**

Jehan was, indeed, grateful that his brother had supplied him with further funds to keep his wine flask replenished. This did not mean that he had to do as the archdeacon would wish of him. Upon receiving the money, he weighed his options and decided to turn Truand anyway. He reached the Court of Miracles and was instantly accepted by the crowd, which was preparing for battle. He would join them, he resolved, and fight as one of them at his brother's cathedral. These people were the open, cheerful family he had never had! Life would be better amongst them.


	51. An Unlucky Friend

**No way I'm going to finish this tonight; I'm making posters for a Doctors Without Borders fundraiser. Review me please, and cheer me up. (I cut my thumb open on a pair of scissors.)**

**Still N.M.P.**

Quasimodo did not fear a moment for himself; his life was devoted to the young woman who was now in mortal peril. He knew only that he had to protect her from these monsters who would cheerfully see her hanged, for he knew not that they were coming to spirit her away to safety. His heart raced as he fought the scholar, for he recognized the boy to be his master's beloved brother. Still, Jehan Frollo was a threat to the dear Esmeralda, and for this he had to perish. They all would die before he let them harm her.


	52. Louis de France

**I finished the book (finally) a week ago, and now just have to type my hand-written drabbles. Not My Property.**

**Note- the real chapter's title is "The Closet Where Monsieur Louis de France Says His Prayers"**

The prisoner within this great, expensive cage saw a glimmer of hope upon the entrance of His Majesty, King Louis the XI. He begged this regal personage for freedom, for he was innocent of any crime. But the king continued his inspection of the cage that was as cold and unyielding as he. It mattered not to him what the prisoner had done to condemn himself to this fate, as long as this cage which had cost so much to construct held its inhabitant. Iron bars were not needed, however; his soul had been bound and crushed by the years.


	53. The Password

**NMP. Please review. I'm sad. My kitty cat just died. :=(**

The man in black had waited by the stone cross in the Porte Baudoyer for what felt like hours before Gringoire emerged from the dark night. The poet had sworn that he would bring the password to him so that they could safely enter the cathedral. What, he wondered, was taking the fool so long? They had to hurry if they wished to rescue the lovely Esmeralda from the king's men. He shuddered at the thought of a coarse rope once again encircling her swan's neck, chafing the smooth skin. What could be keeping her unconcerned husband, the wretched Gringoire?


	54. Chateaupers to the Rescue

**NMP…**

Clopin Trouilefou moved into the crowd of the king's warriors with resolute calmness. He sang as he hacked away at their horses' legs, perfectly at ease in this situation fraught with chaos and destruction. His men would surely overcome these gilded monsters as they would conquer Notre Dame. Then they would rescue their beloved Esmeralda and the 'enterprising' among them would loot the cathedral. He thought of this sweet victory when pain shot through his breast; he fell to the ground soaked with the blood of many, including his own. He had failed Esmeralda and his people with his demise.


	55. The Little Shoe

**Well, this one is kind of a rambling summary of the chapter. Sorry and please don't be irritated enough to not review! (NMP)**

Emotions fleeted through Esmeralda's exhausted brain so rapidly they made her feel ill. Surely, she would soon wake from this nightmare. The relative peace she had found in the cathedral was gone. He husband had rescued her, then run off with her goat, leaving her in the clutches of the man who had destroyed her. The priest's madness was terrible to behold, but not as terrible as that of the old woman. Her mother! In seconds, that fearsome hag had transformed into her loving mother! And then she was dead, killed trying to protect her! Death now seemed a relief.


	56. La Creatura Bella Bianco Vestita

**NMP**

Everything within Claude Frollo froze in an unbearable expression of spiritual pain as he fell through the air. True, his hands reached out to grab the roof, but this was more a natural reflex of his body than a desire to live. It was all gone. He had betrayed science and God with his untamed love of the gipsy girl. Quasimodo stood before him, turned to stone by the angel's cruel demise. Jehan, the archdeacon's dear brother, was dead, his brains splashed upon the pavement. And now the gipsy too was gone, leaving nothing for Claude but this final fall.


	57. Marriage of Phoebus

**Just so y'all know, I finished the book a week ago and wrote all of these. Now I'm just typing them up. And my bird died today, so review and cheer me up. (Yes, this is the second pet death this week.)**

**NMP**

Just days after the uprising at Notre Dame, Captain Phoebus married. It was for him a bittersweet day; although his lovely, wealthy wife was entirely and irrevocably his, he could no longer explore other options within the fairer sex, which he so enjoyed. But perhaps it was for the best, for his last such escapade had nearly killed him. He thought, not for the first time, of the beautiful gipsy who had almost murdered him. He hoped, for some reason, that her death had not been too painful. Setting these depressing thoughts aside, he leaned in to kiss his wife.


	58. Marriage of Quasimodo

**Here's the last one, folks! (Thank God they're over, right? Remind me never to do something so time consuming again, and if I do, tell me to stop being so OCD and to quit halfway through.) Well, bye for now, gang. I have to go write my essay on Ayn Rand's **_**The Fountainhead.**_** (No, I'm not an Objectivist; yes, my paper will probably piss off the judges. No offence to any of my Objectivist readers.**

**Now that my author's note is as long as my drabble, I shall leave. Please remember that these characters belong to the great Victor Hugo, not me. And be kind and review, even if it's to say you think these are stupid.**

There was nothing left for him in the world of the living; all that he loved was dead. Thus he resolved to wait out eternity with her, the only one who had ever shown him any kindness. He lay with her amongst the remains of countless other victims of a hemp rope, many as innocent as she had been. This was how life could have been, had he been beautiful like the captain. Now, she lay in his arms despite his ugliness. She did not run, or even flinch, for she no longer feared him who would love her always.


End file.
